Not very quickly, because it was so difficult to get on, with her wet clothes clinging so heavily; even her boots were full of water and made queer gurgling noises at every step, and her hair hung limp and draggled over her shoulders. Susan had never been so uncomfortable. The cut on her chin hurt a good deal too, for the salt water got into it and made it smart; when she drew her handkerchief out of her pocket, it was only a little damp rag, and no use at all; everything was salt watery except Grace, who was dry and clean, and had only suffered a dinge on her nose by her fall. Susan envied her neat appearance; she was a dignified little girl, and could not bear to look odd or ridiculous, so at first she hoped she should meet no one before she got to Buskin and Sophia Jane. The latter would certainly laugh at her; but, after all, the accident had been her fault, for if she had not been so ill-behaved about the Enemy and the basket, it would not have happened.
Stumbling on, with these things in her mind, she expected every moment to see the pier, but there were still only rocks and cliffs and sea. The waves came rolling in, each one a tiny bit further than the last, and one splashed suddenly so near her, that it covered her with spray. She started back to avoid it; but “after all,” she thought the next minute, “it couldn’t make me wetter than I am.” On, on, on, and now every step began to be more and more painful, for the sand was so wet that she had to walk on the rough stony beach close to the foot of the cliffs. Poor Susan! she felt very tired and desolate; her feet ached, and her arms ached, and her head ached, she would have been thankful to meet people now, even though they might laugh at her. Worst of all, the thought suddenly darted into her mind that she had lost the way; she stood still and looked vainly round for some familiar object, something to guide her—there was nothing. As far as she could see, it was all the same—tall white cliffs, yellow sand, and tossing waves. The only living creature besides herself was a beautiful grey and white bird with long wings which flew skimming about over the water, and sometimes dipped down into it. As Susan watched it, she remembered where she had seen birds of that kind before, and who had told her that they were called sea-gulls; the steamboat, and Monsieur La Roche’s kind voice came back to her. How good he had been, and how badly she had repaid him since; she had indeed been ungrateful and naughty to laugh at him. How thankful she would be to see him now, and to hear him say, “My leetle friend, Mees Susanne!” But there was no chance of that; Monsieur had helped her once in trouble, but he could not come down from the skies to her assistance, and there was no one in sight on land or sea. Suddenly she felt too tired and aching and miserable to struggle on any further, and sinking down on the hard beach like a little damp heap of clothes, she hugged Grace up to her breast and hid her face against her. She sat in this way for some minutes, hearing nothing but the breaking of the waves on the shore and the rattle of the pebbles, when suddenly another noise caught her ear—the regular tramp, tramp of a footstep crushing down on the hard loose stones. She looked up; was it a dream? Not three yards from her was the tall figure of the man she had been thinking of—the French master! Yes, it really was he! There were his threadbare greenish coat and his tightly-strapped trousers, there was his kind face with its high cheek-bones and short-pointed beard. Had he indeed come down from the skies? There seemed no other way, for Susan did not know till afterwards that there were some steps cut zigzag down the cliff just behind her. But wherever he had come from he was undoubtedly there, real flesh and blood, and she was no longer alone with the dreadful roaring sea. It was such a joyful relief that it gave her new strength; she forgot her bedraggled and woebegone state, and starting up began to try and explain how she had lost herself. Greatly to her own surprise, however, something suddenly choked in her throat, and she was obliged to burst into tears in the middle of her story.
Monsieur looked at the little sobbing figure with much compassion in his face and some dismay, then he touched her frock gently:
“Ciel! how you are wet!” he exclaimed; “and cold too, without doubt, my poor leetle friend.” He fingered the top button of his coat doubtfully, as though wishing to take it off and wrap her in it; but although it was a great-coat there was no other underneath it, and he changed his mind with a little shake of the head.
“Come, then,” he said, taking her small cold hand in his, “we will go home together. You are now quite safe, and soon we shall be there. Do not then cry any more.”
Susan did her best to stop her tears, and limped along the beach by his side, clinging tightly on to his hand; but she was tired and worn out, and her wet boots were so stiff and pressed so painfully upon her feet, that at last she stumbled and nearly fell. Monsieur looked down at her with concern.
“Ah!” he said, “the road is rough, and the feet are very small. Voyons! An idea comes to me! Instead of going to Madame your aunt, which is so far, we will go to the house of my sister; it is scarcely ten minutes from here. There I leave you, and go to assure Madame of your safety.”
If Susan had not been so worn out with fatigue she would have objected strongly to this plan of Monsieur’s, for his sister was a perfect stranger to her, and she would much rather have gone home to Aunt Hannah. But, feeling no strength or spirit left to resist anything, she nodded her head silently and suffered him to lift her gently in his arms and carry her up the steps cut in the cliff. How odd it all was! Confused thoughts passed quickly through her mind as she clung fast to the collar of the greenish coat. How kind Monsieur was! how many steps there were, and how very steep! how heavy she was for him to carry, and how he panted as he toiled slowly up! finally, how her dripping clothes pressed against his neatly-brushed garments and made discoloured patches on them. Would the steps never end? But at last, to her great relief, they were at the top, and Monsieur was once more striding along on level ground, uttering from time to time little sentences in broken English for her encouragement and comfort. They were now in a part of Ramsgate that she did not know at all, quite out of the town, and away from all the tall terraces that faced the sea. The houses were mean and poor, and the streets narrow; now and then came a dingy shop, and in almost every window there was a card with “Apartments” on it. At one of these Monsieur stopped and rang the bell. The door was opened at once, as if someone had been waiting to do so, and a brown-faced, black-eyed lady appeared, who talked very fast in French, and held up her hands at the sight of Monsieur’s damp burden. He answered in the same language, calling the lady Delphine, who, chattering all the time, led them down-stairs to a room where there was a good fire burning. Susan wondered to herself why Monsieur and his sister sat in the kitchen, for she saw pots and pans and dishes, all very bright and clean, at one end of the room. The floor was covered with oil-cloth; but by the fire, on which a saucepan hissed and bubbled gently, was spread a bright crimson rug, which made a little spot of comfort. On it there stood a small table neatly laid with preparations for a meal, and a pair of large-sized carpet slippers, carefully tilted so that they might catch the full warmth of the blaze. Sharing this place of honour a fluffy grey cat sat gravely blinking, with its tail curled round its toes. Opposite the table were a rocking-chair and a work-basket, and Susan noticed that someone had been darning a large brown sock.
While she looked at these things from the arm-chair where Monsieur had placed her on his entrance, she also watched the eager face of Delphine who had not ceased to exclaim, to ask questions, to clasp her hands, and otherwise to express great interest and surprise. But it was all in French, as were also Monsieur’s patient replies and explanations. Susan could not understand what they said, but she could make out a good deal by Delphine’s signs and gestures. It was easy to see that she wished to persuade her brother not to go out again, for when he took up his hat she tried to take it away, and pointed to the bubbling saucepan and warm slippers. Monsieur, however, cast a gently regretful glance at them, shook his head, and presently succeeded in freeing himself from her eager grasp; then, when his steps had ceased to sound upon the stairs, she shrugged her shoulders and said half aloud:
“Certainly it is my brother Adolphe, who has the temper of an angel, and the obstinacy of a pig!”